Let the Games Begin
by kallalily
Summary: The reaping from Peeta's perspective.


**I know this has been done a million times before and there are other versions out there much better than mine, but my brain wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote this. **

**Disclaimer: I'm not Suzanne Collins, so I don't own Peeta (darn it!) or Katniss or any part of The Hunger Games. **

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We walk to the reaping in silence. What words are there to say? The cloud of tension and anxiety is too thick to be penetrated by words. When we reach the crowded square, we stop for a moment and just look at each other. "You'll both be fine," my dad says to my brother and me. He just looks at us for a moment before pulling us each in for a quick hug. After we pull away, he says, "Go on, now. You need to get in your places." Our oldest brother tries to smile reassuringly and claps me on the back. Mom says nothing.

I wish my brother luck before walking away to join the crowd of kids my age. I try to keep the fear from showing on my face. I see it reflected all around me; the fear, the worry, the nerves. Really, I have it better than a lot of the people around me. I've never had to take any tesserae, like all the kids the Seam kids. Like _her. _

My stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of all the slips that must have her name on them. What if one of them is drawn? It would kill me to watch her die in the arena, as surely as if I were there with her. I can see it as if it's already happened. I watch in my head as a sword plunges through her heart, a wild animal eats her, she slowly starves to death. And then it's not her anymore. It's my brother. And then each of my friends from school. And then it's me. I'm so caught up in the images in my head that I don't hear a word of the mayor's speech. It doesn't really matter though; I've heard it every year of my life.

I'm pulled back to the reaping when Haymitch Abernathy causes some kind of commotion. I missed it when I wasn't paying attention. Now Effie Trinket is quieting us down in her funny Capitol accent. It's time to draw the girl's name. _Not Katniss, not Katniss, not Katniss. _The words play over and over in my head, as if somehow my thoughts will be enough to keep Effie's lips from speaking her name. "Primrose Everdeen!"

I start to sigh in relief before my heart drops to the bottom of my feet. I know that name. Katniss's little sister. I've seen the way Katniss looks at Primrose, and I know how I would feel if one of my brothers were picked. Poor Katniss. She'll be devastated.

I quickly find her among the sea of kids. When I see her face, I wish more than anything that there was something I could do. I almost wish I were a girl so I could volunteer to take Primrose's place; anything to remove the tortured look from Katniss's eyes. But I can't. I can't even comfort her. Maybe if I'd ever sucked up the courage to talk to her, I would have that right. But I was never brave enough. She probably doesn't even know I exist.

"Prim!" Katniss screams, moving through the crowd. The anguish in her voice cuts me like a knife. "Prim!" She's reached the front of the crowd now. She grabs her sister and shoves her behind her.

"No," I whisper. Because I know what's coming next. The boy standing next to me turns and stares, but I'm beyond caring. Because then the words, the words I dread more than anything else, are leaving Katniss's lips.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

A rushing sound fills my ears and my vision goes blurry. I can see it again; my brain torturing me with the crystal-clear image of Katniss in the arena. Of Katniss, dead.

Prim's scream, echoing that in my head, shatters the pictures and drags me back to the present. "No Katniss! No! You can't go!" I wish, more than anything, that Katniss would listen to her sister. But it's too late.

Katniss's voice is harsh, angry, as it echoes across the silent square. "Prim, let go. Let go!" And then Gale's there. Katniss's handsome best friend. Usually, just the sight of him is enough to send sharp stabs of jealousy through me, but today I'm too numb to care. Too numb to feel any pain at the look that passes between them, the familiarity and friendship in her eyes. Now I'll never get the chance to make her look at me like that. In a few weeks, she'll be dead. _No! She can hunt. She can fight. She _will _come back!_

Effie Trinket excitedly congratulates her on volunteering, as if she did it for glory. Every single person in the audience knows how big of a lie that is. Katniss knows she probably won't come back. You can see it in the tightness around her eyes, could hear it in the desperation in her voice when she volunteered. And we show our understanding in our silence. Why should we clap when a teenage girl walks to her death to save her little sister?

I press my three middle fingers to my lips and hold them out to her. It's the only good-bye I can manage. For a moment, I dream of going to see her in the Justice Building, before she's dragged away. Of telling her how much I love her, how desperately I need her to come home. But I know this a dream that will never become reality. She has such a short time for good-byes and there will be too many people who actually know her. People who have some claim to her time, who haven't been too afraid to talk to her for eleven years.

Haymitch congratulates her, throwing his arm across her shoulders. "Look at her. Look at this one! I like her! Lots of spunk! More than you! More than you!" he screams, advancing toward the camera. My eyes follow him as he falls off the stage but dart back to Katniss as soon as he disappears on the ground.

Her face has contorted in fear and anxiety. I have to lock my legs to keep myself from darting up on that stage and wrapping my arms around her. I don't care that we've never spoken. I just want to comfort her, to find some way to make her smile. But then her face returns to an indifferent, nearly bored expression, so quickly that I almost wonder if I was seeing things a moment before.

Effie attempts to regain our attention. Her bright wig has veered severely to the side in all the excitement. She huffily fixes it, hurrying us on. It's time to select the boy tribute. I have a sudden violent urge to kill him, whoever he is, before he can kill her. My premature rage completely drowns out any fears about my own safety. After all, I never took out any tesserae. The number of slips with my name on them is a very small fraction of all the names.

"Peeta Mellark!" The words burrow their way to the very center of my brain before they make sense. She means me.

My legs carry me numbly to the stage without any direction from my brain. I hear a sharp cry from my family in the audience, but I don't have time for that. I can't lose my composure now, in front of all of Panem and Katniss. I know I have no chance of survival. At least she knows how to hunt. I've never even held a weapon. And it wouldn't matter if I were an expert fighter, trained for battle. Only one of us can make it home. And I know I could never come back without her.

My eyes hungrily take in my town, my friends, my family, as the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason. I'll never see them again, after today.

While the mayor drones on, I come to terms as best as I can with my death. At least I'll be one tribute Katniss doesn't have to worry about. I could never harm her. An idea starts to form in my mind. I have to die, but Katniss doesn't. Why couldn't I help her survive?

The mayor finally finished and indicates for us to shake hands, the two tributes from District 12. I've wondered for years what her skin would feel like. It seems wrong that I'm finding out here, now, like this. Though her hand is cold, it sends darts of warmth shooting up my arm. I look into her gray eyes and see a flicker of fear reflected deep inside. I squeeze her hand, wanting her to know that I understand. I'm afraid too. But she'll be okay. I'll make sure of that. I want to tell her these things, but I know I can't. The Games have begun. I'll have to play them right if I want her to win.

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**Reviews would be awesome :)**


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